


Nighttime licked me into shape

by MemeKon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Butt Plugs, Consensual Somnophilia, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKon/pseuds/MemeKon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So,” Stiles starts and there’s an edge on the word that makes Derek know they are about to have a <i>conversation</i>. Possibly even a <i>discussion.</i></p><p>“So?” He looks at Stiles, relaxes into the couch, lets Stiles’ feet dig a little against both his thighs and his stomach, and then grabs his ankle, squeezes it a little in a silent <i>stay still.</i></p><p>“I want you to fuck me while I’m sleeping. I want to wake up with your dick in me. Or your come. However it works out.” Stiles blurts out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nighttime licked me into shape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [officerstilinskihale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/officerstilinskihale/gifts).



> I wrote this for a prompt from the lovely Juily on tumblr.  
> This is unbeta'ed. Sorry and all that.

They’ve talked about this a couple times. They’ve talked about this with Stiles biting at his shoulder and grabbing his hip, smirking with his lips to Derek’s skin, blowing hot air on him to watch him shiver, just because he knows how and where and in which ways he’s responsive and sensitive. 

They’ve talked about it, and Stiles has told him he’d thought it would be hot. That he can picture it.

They’ve talked about this in bed, lights out, lights on. They’ve talked about this with Stiles balls deep inside him, holding his hand all reverent, hips rubbing against his thighs, shivering against them, strong and lean and ready. Stiles babbling at him, feverish, and Derek nodding in jerking motions, too gone for words, for anything more than a few grunts and a shivering exhale as the wood of their headboard creaks under the strength of his grip.

They’ve talked about it with Stiles pressed up against a wall, Derek sucking on his neck, bruising him up all purple and beautiful, pressing the hard length of his dick through his sweatpants to the crease of his thigh. With Stiles whispering all dirty, rushed, hands on his ass to get him closer, so they can rub one out fast before they have to get on with their days.

They don’t talk about it outside of sex until Stiles plops himself next to Derek on their ugly, ragged old couch (that Stiles resists throwing away because it apparently reminds him of when he was a broke college student thousands of miles away from everything he’d ever been and from everyone he loved and it was ‘an eye opening moment for him, about who and where he wanted to spend the rest of his life with’), knocks Derek’s book from his loose hold while trying to put his feet on Derek’s lap and grimaces at him, looking legitimately contrite for approximately 0.5 seconds, before he just melts into the armrest.

Derek presses his thumb to the inside of Stiles’ ankle, and it gets him a tiny kick in retaliation before they both settle into a comfortable silence, with Derek still holding Stiles’ foot loosely. He thinks about picking his book up, trying to read for a little while more. Or just pretend to to annoy Stiles. 

“So,” Stiles starts and there’s an edge on the word that makes Derek know they are about to have a _conversation_. Possibly even a _discussion._

“So?” He looks at Stiles, relaxes into the couch, lets Stiles’ feet dig a little against both his thighs and his stomach, and then grabs his ankle again, squeezes it a little in a silent _stay still._

“I want you to fuck me while I’m sleeping. I want to wake up with your dick in me. Or your come. However it works out.” Stiles blurts out. He raises his hand up to his mouth after, like he wants to cover it up, or somehow get the words back in. Finally he goes for scratching at his chin, carefully avoiding to look at Derek.

Derek slides his fingers under the fabric of Stiles’ pant, drags his sock down to get at skin, to touch the tips of his fingers to Stiles, to draw tiny, reassuring circles there. 

His heart’s beating loud enough to almost be overwhelming, loud enough that it can almost eclipse on its entirety the wild thump thump thumps of Stiles’ own.

He swallows some spit down, drags his nail down Stiles’ ankle softly when he starts twitching.

Stiles looks up at him, eyes wide and lips bitten, and Derek is saying _okay_ before he can even process it. He’s helpless to do anything other than that with the way his hands are sweating in anticipation, and the way his tongue hangs inside his own mouth, too long, too slow, too thick. He feels slobbering and tight and crackling with energy and it’s all he can do, lock eyes with Stiles and tell him _okay._

Derek doesn’t know what he expects after that, but it definitely isn’t the way Stiles’ lips get tighter and the way his eyes get lit up with this unyielding fire that Derek clearly recognizes from all of their arguments, he doesn’t expect Stiles to go tense under his hand. Doesn’t expect him to retrieve his limbs from Derek’s lap and rub at the bridge of his nose and start reeking of bitter exasperation.

Derek bites back on a _what did I do wrong?_ , but only barely. He puts his hands on his thighs, tries to smooth the wrinkles on the denim under his fingers, frowns at his lap because shit like this still happens from time to time and he gets directionless frustration.

Eventually Stiles clears his throat and sighs and moves closer to him, bumps their shoulders together, noses at his jaw, snakes a hand underneath Derek’s.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he tells him, drops a kiss on his chin, frames his face with his free hand and looks at him from under his lashes. 

He still gets cramps on his stomach from that, and it’s unfair. 

“What happened? What is this about?” His voice is harsh, but he lets himself intertwine his fingers with Stiles’.

“I love you,” is what Stiles replies with, a juvenile blush dusting over his cheeks, a determinate set on his jaw. “You know that, right? You have to. We-- I know we don’t say all the time, because it’s not really us. And actions speak louder or whatever. But I need you to know this. Or I need to know that you know this.”

Derek leans into Stiles’ hand. Even through his confusion and frustration, it incites warmth in him. Makes him feel full and content.

“I know,” he says, and, “I love you too.”

“Good,” Stiles sighs out and nods, almost as if to himself, licks his lips, and repeats, “ _good._ ”

Stiles brushes his thumb over Derek’s cheekbone, leans into a chaste, dry kiss, and then takes himself away from Derek; he runs his fingers through his hair, makes it more of a mess than it already is.

“Stiles, are you getting to the point sometime today?” He says, after a few minutes of Stiles silently freaking out. 

Stiles throws him the finger, but he also gives him a soft smile. Derek smirks at him in return.

“What you want matters,” Stiles tells him then. He waits for a few beats before going on, “What you _don’t_ want matters. If you don’t want _this_ , it matters. We never have to do something just because I want to, okay?”

The surge of affection he feels for Stiles right at that moment is almost enough to trample his frustration. Almost. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, slumps his shoulders as tension starts leaving him. 

“Dude?” 

“ _Stiles_ ,” he inches closer to him, grabs his shoulders, looks him in the eyes, says, “I _know_. I know you wouldn’t expect that of me. I sure as hell don’t expect that from you. I said ‘yes’ because I want to, okay? I do.”

“You said ‘okay’,” Stiles defends himself, makes annoying finger quotes right on Derek’s face (and Derek doesn’t chase after his fingers with the threat of a bite because he’s more of a grownup than Stiles is). “It wasn’t ‘yes, please, Stiles, let’s do it tonight, I’ll fuck the dreams out of you’. I’m allowed to be a little bit uncertain about lack of enthusiasm.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles, makes a big spectacle of it, bites back a grin when Stiles pinches the inside of his elbow, viciously.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyebrows did. And your whole, ” he points out at the entirety of Derek’s face, “thing.”

“My face?”

“Yeah, that.”

Derek snorts then, and Stiles cracks up in laughter. 

He ends up with a lapful of Stiles, hands on Stiles’ hips, dragging him down to get friction on their dicks as they make out like teens, all tongue and little coordination and Stiles gasping against his open mouth when Derek squeezes him particularly hard, when the drag of their clothed cocks gets unrelenting.

 

They spend the next few days working out the details.

Stiles is a plans guy. He likes sorting things out, so Derek lets him. Kisses his shoulder and bites his nipple and listens to Stiles giving him every last detail of his fantasy. Fucks him slow and deep and a little mean and makes Stles gasp on his dick, come all over himself, and then asks him specific questions that make Stiles grin sleepily at him.

They buy a butt plug a couple of towns over, make a day trip out of it. They eat lunch at this hole-in-the-wall diner that Stiles drags him to and let the old, kind looking waitress fuss over them and put more food in front of them than what’s probably appropriate for a single meal. 

They break the toy in that night, because Stiles wants to get used to the feel of it inside him. Derek fucks him on his back, looking at the shining sweat on his forehead, at how his eyes are closed so sweetly and his lashes look clumped and wet and his mouth is open on a perfect o and he comes jerkily, slamming his hips against Stiles’, keeping his legs spread open with his own hands as he thinks _this is what he’s gonna look like when I fuck him while he sleeps_.

He lubes the toy up as Stiles quivers underneath him, still hard, gasping as Derek takes his softening dick out. 

He watches the plug disappear inside Stiles inch by inch, breathless at the image of Stiles’ hole, stretched and pink and wet and leaking Derek’s come, eating the toy up, gaping and sucking it right in.

Once it’s all snug inside, Stiles starts getting impatient at him, thrashing on the sheets, gasping out _come on, come on_ , his hand seeking Derek. Derek follows the lead and ends up swallowing Stiles’ dick, choking down on it as Stiles tilts his hips up, rough. 

Stiles comes down his throat and Derek noses at his limp dick a little after Stiles gets oversensitive and begs him off.

“How does it feel?” He asks, touching the plug’s flanged end, rubbing his finger on Stiles’ rim.

Stiles stretches his limbs luxuriously, tugs Derek up and Derek lets himself be pulled, kisses Stiles’ neck and his jaw, bites the lobe of his ear.

“Great,” Stiles tells him and kisses him, rubs his face on Derek’s chest, throws a leg over both of Derek’s and gasps a little, tries to bear down on nothing. “You should wear it for me one of these days.”

Derek’s dick valiantly tries to get hard at that and he smiles against the crown of Stiles’ head, hair tickling his nose.

 

It’s a few nights later when Stiles gets into bed after him, putting his cold feet between Derek’s, and asks, “so, what do you think about tonight?”

Derek doesn’t even pretend to not know what they are talking about, just hugs one of his arms around Stiles’ waist and nods, touching his forehead to Stiles’. 

Stiles smiles at him, and then wrinkles his nose.

“What?” 

“We’re kinda corny.”

“I’m about to wake you up with my dick,” is Derek’s reply.

Stiles snorts against his shoulder.

“Yeah, you are,” he beams up at him, and then rolls away from him and ruffles through his nightside table’s drawer until he finds the lube and the butt plug, and throws them on the bed, next to Derek. 

Derek kisses Stiles between his shoulders, right where he knows there’s a cluster of three moles in a line, weirdly symmetric, even if he can’t quite see them with the darkness in the room; he kisses down to where there’s a scar that Stiles doesn’t talk about, and down to a spot where he’s particularly ticklish (and it gets him a gust of a laugh in reward).

Stiles stays still up till Derek’s pulling back, and then he turns back and grabs Derek’s face and dives for a kiss, deep and filthy and wanting. He tugs at the blankets, and Derek kicks them off himself, and then Stiles is straddling him. 

“Open me up?” He’s gasping against Derek’s lips, and he nods, trying not to chase Stiles back. “How do you want me?”

“Like this,” He replies, and bites and licks Stiles’ jaw. 

Stiles hands him the lube as he gets up to take his underwear off, dick bouncing right in front of his face. He uncaps the tube one handed, puts his other hand on one of Stiles’ asscheeks,squeezes it, and leans into Stiles, mouths at the head of his cock, tender, nuzzles his crotch, rubs his nose against the flaccid length of him, against his balls. Stiles sighs and pets his hair, body curving against Derek’s, molding itself to him.

Derek helps Stiles ease back onto his knees, and then he squeezes lube onto his hand and warms it up between his fingers, smiles at Stiles slow and seductive when he catches him trailing the motions with half lidded eyes, and Stiles punches his arm softly. 

The pads of his fingers rub against Stiles’ hole then and Stiles gasps, melts into the touch. 

He undoes Stiles in every way he can, uses all the tricks he knows, makes Stiles pant against his cheek even with the disadvantageous angle, thrusts up and has Stiles scrambling to bear down on him, scrambling to get a hand on his cock and jerk himself off fast and dry and bumping the head against his abs, smearing precome on him until he’s sobbing and trembling and coming all over him, Derek three fingers in him, jabbing and rubbing and making his thighs quiver on upthrusts. 

Stiles slumps against him, mouths along his shoulder and pats around the bed until he finds the plug and he can press it against Derek’s chest.

Stiles holds his cheeks open for him and he slides the toy inside, listens for the squelching sounds, for the contented noises Stiles makes low on his throat, and he thrusts up, comes inside of his boxers on a shaky exhale, quiet and overwhelming and perfect.

Stiles smirks at him, smug and flushed and sweaty, hair in disarray. It’s a sight Derek could drown in, would do so, gladly.

He smirks back and jabs the plug upwards, makes Stiles squirm on his lap, breathe out you asshole after a gasp. 

 

Stiles falls asleep tangled on the sheets, mouth slack open on top of his pillow, one arm thrown over Derek, and the other hanging down from the bed’s edge.

“You can do your Edward Cullen thing tonight,” Stiles had told him as he closed his eyes and wiggled around ridiculously, until he was plastered to Derek’s side. “Watch me sleep and contemplate the length of my eyelashes and shit.”

He’d pinched Stiles’ side at that, but he still looks his fill. At the slope of Stiles’ shoulders, at the expanse of creamy skin on his back with moles like signs on a road; looks at the leg that’s tangled on the sheets, and the one that’s plastered to Derek, at how hairy and strong they are, how long. 

Derek watches Stiles slipping into a heavier sleep, smiles when Stiles starts talking, disconnected phrases and random words, and once or twice Derek’s name, sighed out like it’s a treat rolling on his tongue.

Derek’s cheeks and the tips of his ears burn, and it feels decadent that the first thing to make him feel flustered tonight is the way Stiles feels for him. It feels right. 

Stiles moves a lot on his sleep, shifts and pushes and pulls Derek around, kicks him a couple times, slaps him on the nose once. Derek always ends up throwing one of his own legs over Stiles’, putting the weight of his body over Stiles’, making him go limp underneath, anchors him to their bed.

This time when Stiles’ hand starts twitching, he grabs it and kisses the palm of it, then the inner wrist, sucks one of Stiles’ fingers inside his mouth, and watches in fascination as Stiles makes hums in his sleep, hips stuttering against the mattress. The motion must shift the plug inside him because it makes him spread his legs and keen.

Derek reaches down to squeeze his hardening cock, gives it a few jerks as he swirls his tongue around the length of Stiles’ finger, over the pad of it, the salty taste of sweat and salt and skin and just _Stiles_.

When Stiles is gasping, making circular motions against the mattress, attempting to fuck it, Derek lets his finger go. He tugs Stiles gently to the center of the bed and folds over him, drops lazy open mouthed kisses on his back, he gets Stiles’ thighs together and brackets them with his own legs. Stiles smacks his lips a couple of time, reaches a hand out towards Derek’s pillow and drags it towards him until he’s burying his nose on it, mouthing at the fabric and making sleepy, aroused sounds. He tries to stick his ass up, gurgles out something frustrated when he can’t. Derek smoothes a hand down his side, and it calms him down, settles him down into tiny gasping sounds interspersed with attempts at words. Derek listens for his heartbeat, for his breathing, which are still firmly in the parameters of sleep. It isn’t shocking, Derek knows how much of a heavy sleeper Stiles is, has struggled with waking him up before, but it is thrilling in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It calls to something primal inside him, how open and pliant and responsive Stiles is to him, even like this. Like Derek’s body is a final falling piece on the puzzle of his own body. 

Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ ass, grabs the soft mounds of flesh and digs his thumbs in, works kinks out from the muscles, makes Stiles groan against the damp cotton of his pillow when he parts them, shifting the plug inside him.

Derek’s hips stutter in want, his dick dragging over the back of Stiles’ thighs, smearing them with droplets of precome from his tip.

He grunts, and takes his own cock in hand, squeezes at the base. Stiles babbles in his sleep, as if in answer, while Derek reaches for the lube and squeezes some on himself, hissing at the cold sensation, but glad for a little reprieve from the heat and the certainty that he isn’t gonna last.

He takes the toy out carefully, eating up the obscene squelching noises it makes going out, mouth watering at the way Stiles’ hole gapes, seems to wink up at him once it’s empty, like it’s still hungry, like it needs to be filled.

Derek inches closer, lets his hands fall back on Stiles’ cheeks, and he gives a couple of thrusts between them, moans at the feeling of the soft flesh against his cock, at the feeling of his tip catching at the rim of Stiles’ hole on every thrust. 

Stiles is letting out these breathless ah ah ahs, tries to move along with Derek, graceless and uncoordinated.

Derek wants to break out in praise, wants to tell Stiles how good he’s doing, how good he looks, trying to get Derek’s cock inside him, but he bites the words back, doesn’t want to get too loud, just in case. Wants to give Stiles what he asked for. Wants to be good too.

Stiles sobs out a couple of mangled letters that sound like Derek’s name when Derek gets his tip inside, he goes pliant and panting and babbling incoherences. Derek soothes him with his hands, bends over to kiss his shoulder, and then a little more to kiss his slack mouth, pushes his tongue in, gets Stiles’ drool on him as Stiles’ tight heat envelops the head of his dick.

He gets back on his knees and watches as the rest of his length disappears inside of Stiles, gasps at the sensation, at the heat, at how gorgeous it feels to split Stiles on his cock. 

Stiles is a mess, cheeks flushed, his face sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. He’s still mouthing at Derek’s pillow, and one of his hands is closed tight around it, while the other flexes at his side. His eyelids are fluttering, and Derek can tell he’s coming closer to the surface, in the way to waking up.

It’s breathtaking. 

He fucks Stiles slow and deep, pushes almost all the way out and then drives back in in earnest, skin slapping against skin, Stiles’ ass growing hot under his grip, looking flushed. 

He’s a couple of thrusts away from coming when Stiles starts waking up, eyelids flickering, cardiac rhythm and respiratory rate adjusting. 

“Derek?” It’s sleepy and slurred and rough, and Derek can only hum back.

“Your dick is inside me,” Stiles informs him, like Derek doesn’t know, like it’s an interesting piece of news. He pushes back into Derek’s thrusts and gasps, slurs out, drowsy and a little slow, “you woke me up with your dick.”

Derek nods, because words aren’t in his grasp right now. Stiles reaches a hand back, pats at Derek’s wrist. 

“Harder,” he says. “Fuck me harder, I want to wake up aching on the morning. I want to hurt a little. C’mon, big guy.”

Derek lets Stiles rearrange them, goes when Stiles pulls, follows Stiles’ lead until he’s fucking Stiles on his knees, face resting on his folded arms, ass up for Derek to slide into. 

He makes sure to get the angle right, to get at the spot that makes Stiles babble and curse and leak. Fucks him faster and harder and deeper, just this side of too much, so Stiles will definitely feel him in the morning. Puts bruises on his hips with his hands, holds him possessively, makes him bear down on his thrusts, makes him take everything he can give.

Stiles is whispering mangled praise at him, one hand on himself, lazy, playful, even up till he’s tightening around Derek, coming almost on accident, mouth forming a surprised little o.

Derek makes a hurt, punched out noise at that, slams his hips once, twice more against Stiles and _comes_ , not like a freight train, but like lightning. A white, hot flash piercing through him as he slumps over Stiles, dick softening inside him, wetness dripping between his thighs. 

 

Stiles gets cleanup duty, which he makes a show of complaining a lot about. Derek doesn’t budge, arguing that he did all the work, so it’s the least Stiles can do. 

He rolls onto his back and pillows his head on his arms. Enjoys being lax and post orgasmic and plain _happy_ , grinning at Stiles as he cleans them up to more or less success with one of his ugly plaid shirts, acting supremely put upon about it the whole time, even though he smells sweet and content.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Come hang out with me on tumblr! ](http://memekon.tumblr.com)


End file.
